


Fate Steps In

by MoonRiver



Series: Amelia [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Babies, Baby Watson, First Time, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Parentlock, Self-Doubt, Singing, Single Parents, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-05
Updated: 2014-04-05
Packaged: 2018-01-18 05:55:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1417668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoonRiver/pseuds/MoonRiver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’m shit at this, Sherlock! She barely even looks at me. When you hold her it’s like everything okay. When I hold her it’s like she’s disappointed in me.”</p><p>“You’re giving a three month old far too much credit,” Sherlock teased, his lips turning up in a small smile. “She’s just a baby, John. She cries. She eats. She sleeps. She poops. Those are her responsibilities right now. She’s not thinking about anything else.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fate Steps In

**Author's Note:**

> After writing "Perfect" I realised how much I enjoyed parentlock and how much I liked Amelia. I decided to turn this into a series- a series that's not in chronological order so there's no requirement to read that story before this one. 
> 
> The title and lyric quotes of course come from "When You Wish Upon A Star", written by Leigh Harline and Ned Washington.

“When you wish upon a star…makes no difference who are you are…”

It was one in the morning, a time of day John had gotten quite acquainted with over the last three months. Even as he gazed down into his daughter’s closed his eyes he still couldn’t believe all of this was real. His wife was dead, he was a single father, and his skin was slick with sweat because he just slept with Sherlock Holmes.

Everything was becoming too much. As his daughter cried in his arms his heart went out to her; it was like she knew how shit of a father he was. He could hardly blame her- he would probably be screaming for help too.

 _It’s just you and me now,_ he had whispered to her after Mary died.

The full meaning of those words hadn’t hit him until he found himself awake in the house alone in the middle of the night with a crying baby. He had no parents to turn to, no relatives he could rely on, and few mates who wanted to do more than meet at pubs. It was only out of sheer desperation that he begged Sherlock to stay with him while he got used to his new role of single father. The visit turned into a three-month stay, over which they had gotten closer than they ever had before. Something about changing nappies and cleaning spit-up stains out of shirts seemed to truly bring them together.

That night, after Sherlock had a glass of wine and he himself was drunk on exhaustion, they shared a single kiss. It happened simply and suddenly while they were washing dishes, as though it were a naturally recurring thing in their relationship. By that time the baby was asleep long enough to give them time to engage in an adrenaline-fueled affair. Toward the end, Sherlock’s name escaped his mouth a little louder than he meant, cuing a frantic cry from his daughter. Out of shame and embarrassment he fled the room, wearing only the pants and shirt he managed to grab, and took refuge in the nursery.

“Every wish your heart desires will come true,” he sang, going slightly off-key at the end.

He’d had three months to become an expert at children’s songs, nappies, and baby food. Amelia was still not sleeping through the night, he wasn’t sleeping at all, and he just didn’t have time to even consider being in a relationship.

Let alone in a relationship with Sherlock.

_What was I thinking?_

“I’ve never heard you sing before.” He swirled around, holding his daughter tightly as his eyes found Sherlock. His friend was leaning against the door to the nursery. Sherlock’s sharp eyes met his, and seeing him so awake and alert made John feel even more exhausted. His entire body ached for sleep, and here was Sherlock, mocking his singing. “You have a nice voice.”

They stared at each other for a moment, and a sort of mutual understanding passed between them: they were both utterly terrified to talk about what just happened.

“I ran out of lullabies,” he admitted. Amelia squirmed in his arms, and he couldn’t hold back the sigh of frustration that escaped him. “I just don’t know what else to do.”

“It’s perfectly normal for babies to cry at night, you know that,” Sherlock said as he stepped beside him.

They both gazed down at the three month old child. Sherlock carefully brushed a finger down her cheek, and she let out a loud wail. Blushing, he turned to John.

“Sorry.”

“Sometimes I think she’s crying for her mum,” John confessed. He bounced the child lightly in his arms and began pacing the room. His feet were burning from standing on the hardwood for nights on end, and he was regretting not going with the carpeted floors. “I’m not good enough for her, Sherlock. She needs her mum.”

Sherlock placed a hand on his shoulder, and he was taken aback by the comfort it brought him. He’d asked his friend to stay with him a few days ago, and Sherlock more than delivered when it came to baby-sitting duties. But Sherlock was just that, a friend. At the end of the day Amelia was his. This little life form in his arms was his, and…

“I’m so scared,” John whispered.

He looked up at Sherlock, his eyes watering as tears finally began to take over. Since leaving the hospital he forced himself to be strong. He didn’t have time for breakdowns. Yet with every day he felt like he was becoming weaker and weaker, and it felt like if he didn’t reach out for help now his body was going to break. It was part of why he initiated the affair with Sherlock- for some reason he thought it could lead him to clarity. Instead things seemed even more confusing and terrifying.

Sherlock’s skin was still flushed, and his eyes melted at the cracking of John’s voice. His hand reached out to John’s cheek this time, and he didn’t swipe it away.

“You’re doing just fine,” Sherlock replied quietly. “You’re a brilliant dad, John.”

“It doesn’t feel like it.”

Tears were falling freely now, and he was so ashamed that he turned away, holding Amelia close to his chest.

“Let me take her,” Sherlock offered, extending his hands.

John shook his head and practically shoved him away with his shoulders.

“John,” Sherlock warned, “you need sleep. You’re exhausted. You’re supposed to go back to work next week and you’ll need your strength. Please.”

He held out his arms, and John let out a choked sob as he turned to him.

“I’m shit at this, Sherlock! She barely even looks at me. When you hold her it’s like everything okay. When I hold her it’s like she’s disappointed in me.”

“You’re giving a three month old far too much credit,” Sherlock teased, his lips turning up in a small smile. “She’s just a baby, John. She cries. She eats. She sleeps. She poops. Those are her responsibilities right now. She’s not thinking about anything else.”

As if on cue a foul smell flooded the room, and he could see by Sherlock’s face that he smelled it too.

“Bloody hell!” John swore, holding Amelia away from him. “Jesus.”

_Not now. Not this too._

He was ashamed to think it, but he was really just too tired to deal with anything else, no matter how little of a deal it was. He was exhausted to the point of turning numb. The smell was nauseating, and that combined with his sleep deprivation made him feel light-headed.

“John!” Sherlock exclaimed.

He grabbed Amelia as John swayed on his feet. He caught the edge of the cot just before he fell to the ground, and he became so overwhelmed with tears of exhaustion that he slid to the floor. Carefully, Sherlock sat down next to him, baby in his arms.

“I can’t do this, Sherlock,” he sobbed. “I can’t, I don’t…I don’t even know anything about kids. I don’t know what I was thinking. I should have been more careful with Mary. I should have been able to tell who she really was. I should have been able to tell something was wrong with her. She fucking died during childbirth and I never…I should have been able to stop it. I’m not a dad. I barely even knew my father before he died, I don’t even know what dads do…I don’t know how to do this. I have eighteen years to teach her about the world and…I don’t even understand women! How can I raise a daughter? How am I supposed to talk to her boys and getting her period and… _girl stuff_? She won’t want a dad. She’ll want her mum, she’ll want _parents_. I can’t do this on my own, I-"

“John!” Sherlock cried again. His eyes were dark and serious, more serious than John had seen them in a long time, and he realised the true impact of what he just said.

“I’m a coward,” he whispered.

“You’re being ridiculous!” Sherlock shot. “You’re acting like a complete nutter, John, and you know it. First of all, you’re a doctor, and if you deserve to have a medical license at all you should be able to handle talking to her about periods and sex."

“Oh she’s not having sex until she’s thirty,” John warned, “and married, with a career. And each person she goes on a date with has to undergo a full psychological evaluation and background check.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

“She’s three months old,” Sherlock pointed out. “She’s not even at holding her own utensils or standing. You’ll have loads of parenting experience before you have to deal with any of that other stuff. And you will not, under any circumstances, ask any of her dates for a background check unless you want her to become the laughing stock of her school.”

John let out a snort, but he hardly felt any better.

“Besides, if any of her dates seem suspicious we’ll just have Mycroft deal with it,” Sherlock smirked.

He wrinkled his nose.

“You know what I just realised?” John asked. “I’ll be sixty by the time she turns eighteen. Christ that’s old! What if I’m too old to teach her football or even how to ride a bike? What if she wants to go on holiday, and I’m just an old man who-“

“John!” Sherlock held the baby with one arm and grabbed his shoulders with the other. “You’re being irrational. You need sleep. Now go take a nice warm bath, get into bed, and don’t leave that room until you’ve gotten at least twelve hours of sleep.”

God he needed sleep. And a warm bath sounded amazing, especially since his arse still ached.

“Okay,” John finally sighed, “but if you need anything-"

“I know. But I won’t.”

His body shook as he got to his feet, and Sherlock had to hold onto him to help him stand.

“Perhaps I’ll make you some tea before you go to bed.”

John shook his head.

“I’ll be fine, thanks.”

He turned around, and he almost kissed Sherlock, simply on instinct. But something made him stopped, and the two friends stared at each other, as though they were both wondering what the hell it was they were doing.

“We’ll have to talk about us sometime,” John whispered.

“Not now,” Sherlock said, shaking his head. “Tonight might have been too soon.”

John nodded, though secretly he wasn’t sure what to think. He was currently somewhere between running for his life and throwing himself into Sherlock’s arms.

“If I pushed you-“ Sherlock began, but John barked with laughter.

“No, if I pushed you-“

“You didn’t.”

“You didn’t either.”

They shared the smallest of smiles, and his body finally seemed to relax.

“Bath and bed actually sounds brilliant right now,” John said. “Thank you, Sherlock. I don’t know what I’d do without you here.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Leaning down, he kissed his daughter goodnight. For Sherlock, he settled for a kiss to his cheek. As he quietly exited the nursery he heard Sherlock continue the song:

"Like a bolt of out the blue, fate steps in and sees you through..."

A smile crossed his face at the thought of Sherlock Holmes knowing the words to a classic Disney tune. When he first fled his bedroom he was worried that he had just made a huge mistake. He worried that the affair might ruin their friendship, and if that happened John didn't know if he could get through this. But as he heard Sherlock singing soft words of hope to his daughter, and as her cries turned to yawns, he somehow knew that what just happened wasn't a mistake.

No, Sherlock Holmes wasn't a mistake at all.

Sherlock was a miracle. 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed it! I've been on a parentlock kick lately so you will probably see more of Amelia. I love taking request and prompts, so if you have any parentlock requests let me know! Thanks so much for reading, and I would love to know what you thought of the story if you would like to leave a comment!


End file.
